


Seeing Isn't Believing

by Esperata



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Christmas, Crossover, Gen, Oswald Cobblepot as Santa Claus, Second-Hand Embarrassment, The Santa Clause AU, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esperata/pseuds/Esperata
Summary: Oswald just wants his first Christmas with Martín to be perfect. When he gets a magical night filling in for Santa it seems the perfect ending. Unfortunately its only the beginning of his problems...
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Leslie Thompkins, Oswald Cobblepot & Martin
Comments: 47
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

The Iceberg Lounge glittered like the jewel in Gotham’s crown that it was. Everywhere you looked guests were enjoying the atmosphere and celebrating the festive season. And walking amongst them all, charming his way through the crowds with practised ease was Oswald Cobblepot. To the casual eye he looked perfectly content, dressed to the nines of course, with a dash of purple adding a holiday note to his coiffured hair. He smiled as if there was nowhere he’d rather be.

Ms Kean knew different and said so the moment he approached.

“Didn’t think you’d be here today. First Christmas Eve with your son and all.”

His lips twisted as his facade dropped in front of his business partner.

“Believe me, I  _ don’t  _ want to be here.” He turned as he took his place beside her, eyes still watchful over the room. “Unfortunately some rather important people have their eyes open for any weakness and it wouldn’t do to appear distracted.”

“No.” She sipped her martini. “I suppose not.”

He was well aware that she too wouldn’t hesitate to move in if she sensed an opportunity but unlike others she knew him better than most. She knew having someone in his care made him more dangerous, not less.

“I’m going at five though,” he continued. “You have no other plans this evening, right?”

She shot him a glance at the pointed remark but otherwise remained perfectly calm. Outwardly at least.

“No. I have no other plans. But it looks like you’ll be going earlier than that…”

She tailed off leaving Oswald to figure out what she meant on his own. For a moment he waited impatiently before a gap in the crowd revealed what her height advantage had already shown her: Detective Bullock was by the doors obviously trying to gain entry.

Leaving her smirking behind him, Oswald strode over as fast as his leg would allow him to intercede before too much attention could be drawn to the situation.

“Ah, there you are Penguin,” the detective forgot his argument with the staff to focus on him. “Need you to come down to the station.”

“May I enquire what for? I’m sure there’s no crime you could have a warrant to arrest me for.”

“You mean there’s nothing we can pin on you yet,” Bullock translated before waving that away. “But that’s not the point. It’s Martín.”

At the mention of his son, Oswald’s whole demeanour changed.

“Martín? What’s the matter? What happened? Is he alright?”

Bullock held his hands up placatingly.

“The boy’s fine. Physically. Legally, well, that’s another matter. Hence why you better come with me. Jim wants to speak to you.”

Oswald grit his teeth at Captain Gordon’s name but nevertheless nodded and moved to get his coat.

The journey to the GCPD precinct was mercifully short given the lack of traffic. Oswald resented being a passenger in a police car for any reason but given the fact he’d never learnt to drive it was unfortunately a necessity. Still, he was grateful to vacate the vehicle without cuffs on this occasion. Even if his designated driver obviously would have preferred otherwise. There was no love lost between him and the detective as he was escorted dutifully inside and shown to the captain’s office.

Inside Oswald found his young son sat before the big desk with Jim obviously trying to talk seriously to him from behind it. Off to one side, unsurprisingly was Doctor Thompkins, monitoring it all with professional interest. He didn’t wait for them to dictate the tone to him but chose rather to seize the moment to direct events as he’d prefer.

“What is the meaning of this? Holding a young child on Christmas Eve? Where is your holiday spirit?”

He was rewarded by Martín twisting round to smile up at him even as Jim scowled across at him. Casting his own reassuring smile to the boy, Oswald came to a stop beside the chair with one hand resting protectively upon the back of it.

“We’re not holding Martín,” Jim corrected. “But need I remind you that your adoption of him was conditional upon you turning over a new leaf.”

Oswald frowned himself at that.

“What evidence can you possibly have of any wrongdoing on my part?” he demanded at once. “And more to the point, it's inhumane to hold a man’s son as ransom against him in this manner.”

“You misunderstand,” Doctor Thompkins interrupted insistently. “No-one is holding Martín as ransom. He was picked up by the police for his own misdemeanours.”

“Martín?” Oswald looked inquisitively to him but the boy merely shrunk in on himself.

“According to the report,” Jim answered on his behalf. “Martín had been running an extortion racquet at his school. It seems a number of kids now believe they have to pay him money to guarantee Santa will bring them what they want for Christmas.”

“How very enterprising of you!” Oswald complemented Martín proudly, reaching his hand forward to ruffle his hair.

“Oswald!” Jim growled.

“I mean,” he retracted his hand and straightened his posture, forcing a serious expression. “That was very wrong of you Martín. Very wrong indeed.”

“Mister Cobblepot.” Lee intervened again before Jim cound vent whatever he was feeling. “It’s not just your own criminal behaviour that’s being monitored. The whole point is that social services didn’t want a child being given over to be raised into a criminal lifestyle. If that seems likely to be happening then Martín will be removed back to care.”

The reminder was enough to sober both father and son, with Martín glancing anxiously up at Oswald. Automatically he placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder while he took his own calming breath.

“Of course. I completely understand. And I assure you Martín and I shall be having a frank discussion about his future behaviour.” He switched his earnest gaze between captain and doctor. “But for now, may we go? It  _ is  _ Christmas Eve.”

For a terrifying beat, Oswald thought Jim might decide to make a point and disrupt their whole evening. Then, perhaps due to a pointed look from Lee, he opted to wave them away instead.

“Yeah. Alright.” The pair had made it to the door before he called out to them once more. “Oh, and merry christmas.”

“The same to you,” Oswald responded with a terse smile, giving a more genuine nod of acknowledgment to Doctor Thompkins before finally leaving.

There was a slight delay as Oswald attempted to organise them a taxi home only to find everyone was booked solid at what was perhaps one of their busiest times of the year. He therefore risked ordering one of his less than legitimate employees to come collect them, bargaining on the police not looking for extra work on the holidays, and they eventually arrived home with just enough time to change for dinner. Olga had prepared  halászlé for them, followed by beigli, which Oswald had insisted upon as a tradition. He’d had it with his mother every year but was willing to concede relegating it to Christmas Eve so they could splash out on a more lavish roast dinner on the day itself.

By unspoken consensus neither brought up the topic of the visit to the precinct over their meal. It was one of their rules that family dinners were a special time and neither of them wanted to sully their first Christmas meal with such conversation. However Oswald knew he’d have to broach the topic before the day was over. He eventually chose the time when  Martín was getting ready for bed.

“Now, Martín, I hope you understand why what you were doing was wrong?”

The boy frowned around his toothbrush and grabbed his notebook to reply.

“But  you con people.”

“I con adults who should have the wherewithal to avoid it,” he corrected primly before clarifying. “But what I really mean is,  _ I don’t get caught _ .”

Martín spat out his mouthful of toothpaste and glared.

“I made over $100.”

Oswald couldn't help but be slightly impressed but he nevertheless persevered.

“Which is all well and good but would it have been worth it if Doctor Thompkins had taken you away?”

The reminder was clearly enough to caution Martín and he dipped his head. Sighing softly, Oswald reached out to raise his chin and carefully wiped a smear off his face.

“When you’re older, you’ll learn how to cover your tracks. Until then I need you to do nothing that will draw the social services’ attention. Do you understand?”

He received a nod in response and smiled warmly.

“Good. Now, would you like a bedtime story?”

The nod this time was far more enthusiastic and Martín ran past him to get comfortable in bed. Oswald was slower and detoured to the bookcase to pick up the book he’d found earlier for this eventuality.

“My mother used to read this to me every year,” he offered as he took his place on the bed. “Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there;”

He stopped as Martín reached for his pad and waited to see what the boy wanted.

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?” Oswald asked in confusion.

In reply Martín pointed towards the poem Oswald had been reading and he glanced back at it.

“Saint Nicholas?” he queried. At Martín’s nod he happily explained. “Saint Nicholas is another name for Santa Claus.” Martín scrunched up his nose somewhat. “What?”

“Only babies believe in Santa.”

“Nonsense. I believe in Santa and I’m not a baby.” He got a disbelieving look but swiftly coughed and carried on with his recital. “The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap, when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter-” He stopped again as Martín picked up his pencil.

“What’s that?”

Oswald tilted his head in mild exasperation.

“What’s  _ what _ ?”

“A Rose Suchak ladder.”

“It’s not a ladder,” Oswald explained with an amused smile at the mistake. “I said ‘arose such a clatter’. It means… there came a big noise.”

“What?”

He put the book down in resignation as he answered his son’s insatiable curiosity.

“Arose is a word that means ‘there came’ and a clatter is a big noise.”

Even before he’d finished Martín was already scribbling something else.

“How do reindeer fly? They don’t have wings.”

The lie came to Oswald with the ease of long practise and he spoke with confidence.

“Fairy dust.”

However Martín was too knowledgeable by half it seemed.

“That’s Peter Pan.”

Oswald opened his mouth to try again but found himself momentarily stumped and glanced to the image in the book for inspiration.

“Horns,” he began before having a word pointed out to him and having to correct himself. “Antlers… give them… there’s a slipstream effect… the air… they move fast…” He was horribly aware of burbling and cursed his lack of scientific jargon until finally inspiration struck. “They’re weightless!”

Martín didn’t look entirely convinced but he let that go in favour of a new question. This time Oswald was favoured with a drawing of a very rotund man, with a beard and festive hat, hovering over what was obviously a chimney. Emphatic pointing conveyed the question clearly enough: if Santa was so fat, how did he get down the chimney?

“He sucks it in. Like Detective Bullock.”

“What about places with no chimneys?”

Honestly Oswald didn’t even know how to speculate a guess at that so he changed tactics entirely. Sighing softly he reached out to cup Martín’s anxious face.

“Martín. Sometimes believing in something means you… just believe in it. Santa gets his reindeer to fly because that’s how he has to get around.”

Worried eyes looked back at him until they turned to his notepad again.

“But you  do believe in Santa?”

“Of course.”

“But I was bad.” Martín’s penmanship was noticeably smaller and Oswald’s heart clenched.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. Bad!” he scoffed. “Santa doesn’t judge like the GCPD do. You are brilliant and creative and inventive. Is that why you didn’t want to believe in Santa? Because you thought you’d be on the naughty list?”

A nod of the head confirmed he’d guessed right.

“Well don’t you worry about that. Santa knows who really deserves coal and who doesn’t. And you, Martín, definitely don’t.”

His boy finally smiled and Oswald could see the weight lift from his small shoulders. He stroked through the curls fondly and helped him settle down under the covers before kissing his forehead.

“Now shut your eyes,” he suggested. “And please go to sleep.”

A smile answered him prompting Oswald to smile himself. He switched on the nightlight and moved to turn the main light out, glancing back once more as he did so. Martín blew him a kiss from the bed and then obediently shut his eyes.

Walking back to finish setting up the living room ready for the morning, Oswald reflected on the experience. He knew Martín was a little old for Santa, and most likely had little reason to believe with his background, but he desperately wanted one shared Christmas where that magic was alive for him. His own mother had done everything she could to give him that childhood innocence and he wanted Martín to have that too. Even if only for one year.


	2. Chapter 2

Being awoken during the night by Martín wasn’t an uncommon experience. Unspecified nightmares were a recurring issue and, although Martín wasn’t secure enough yet to discuss them, Oswald was satisfied with his willingness to seek comfort with him. Therefore as soon as he startled with the sudden shaking of his shoulder, he reacted instinctively.

“It was only a dream, Martín. Everything’s fine.”

He’d swung his legs round to sit upright before realising the grasping at his arm hadn’t stopped.

“Martín? What’s wrong? Did something-”

A blur moved past his vision as Martín thrust the notebook at him and he reached out an uncoordinated hand to grab it. It took him a few seconds to focus his sleep addled gaze but it didn’t ease his confusion any. All he saw was a simplistic roof, denoted by the rectangular chimney, with a stick figure next to it. Obviously supposed to be Santa by the circle of a belly and triangle indicating a hat.

“Santa? You’re still worried about Santa? Martín he’s-” A loud thump from above them interrupted him, followed by the wet sound of a lot of snow sliding off the tiles. “On the roof,” Oswald exclaimed, completely forgetting his train of thought.

He clutched protectively at his boy, who was calm now Oswald was alert to the problem.

“Martín. I need you to stay here, okay?”

The curls shook vigorously as Martín objected to that plan. Oswald sighed even as he pulled on his robe and slipped on his slippers.

“I mean it Martín. This could be dangerous.”

As if in emphasis of his point he pulled out the bedside drawer and retrieved his revolver. He gave a glance to the stubborn expression being leveled at him before another sound from above, possibly cursing, propelled him into action. There was no time to dawdle while the intruders could even then be finding their way in.

Hobbling as fast as he could manage he made quick time along the corridor and down the stairs, practically bursting out the front door to reach a position from where he could aim at his target.

“You have two seonds to get down from there,” he yelled. “Or I’ll-”

He never got to say what he’d do as his voice had surprised the individual enough for them to turn and slip. Within the demanded two seconds they’d completed their journey down the drop onto the hard ground below. Oswald stood with mouth agape as he spun through the problems this development might cause. Which only doubled as Martín ran out the front door, in his outdoor coat and wellingtons, clutching a knife.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Oswald quickly intercepted him. “You were supposed to stay inside.”

It was too late really as Martín had seen the figure still immobile on the ground and was eagerly peering around Oswald. He stopped peeking just long enough to write something briskly.

“You shot him!”

“What? No! He fell. It was an accident,” Oswald assured him.

“He’s dead?”

“No… well… maybe not.”

Cautiously turning, and relieved that Martín wasn’t rushing past him, Oswald finally approached the only other person involved in the night’s events. As they got closer, the strangeness only increased as they both recognised the costume he was wearing. Martín yanked on Oswald’s sleeve and pointed dramatically.

“Yes, I can see,” Oswald snapped, his stress beginning to show. Even in Gotham it was unusual for burglars or assassins to dress as jolly Saint Nick. “He’s probably some down on his luck mall Santa. Or an escapee from Arkham,” he added sotto voce while shuffling closer to investigate.

Martín remained at his elbow but Oswald didn’t object. Given the shock he could appreciate why the child might feel a bit more clingy than usual.

“Sir,” he announced himself loudly, though there didn’t seem to be much of a reaction to his leaning over. “I’m just going to look for your ID.”

He waited a beat for an objection but when none came he reached into the most obvious pocket. It produced a business card and Oswald’s hopes lifted that it would provide some answers. To his disappointment, the front side only read ‘Santa Claus’ but he held hope of a tailor’s or costumer's address on the reverse. What he got was just another riddle.

“If something should happen to me, put on my suit. The reindeer will know what to do. Reindeer?” he repeated in exasperation.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked back to see Martín was pointing up at the roof. Ignoring the figure who had so rudely distrubed their evening, he stood and accompanied Martín back to where they had a clear view once again of the roof. This time, with no intruder to fixate upon, Oswald saw what the card had been referring to. How he’d missed them the first time was beyond him because they were certainly there now. He even tried closing his eyes and pinching himself but the reindeer on the roof did not disappear. Unlike the body on the ground.

Martín noticed first and once again pointed it out to him. All that was left in the indent in the snow was a red suit laid out. While Oswald gaped for what felt like the hundredth time that night, Martín excitedly tried to pull him across. All Oswald could do however was stare about the grounds looking for the apparently injured and definitely naked man who’d seemingly escaped under their very noses. The prospect of him finding his way to the authorities to report events did not appeal. Although Oswald knew he was perfectly innocent in this situation, it would undoubtedly spoil his Christmas plans and he hurried to think of some way to talk his way out of the whole thing.

Thankfully Martín let him pace in peace, obviously aware that these events were not normal for Christmas Eve, no matter what tall tales he might have heard. Unfortunately fate still wasn’t done with Oswald and as he completed a turn he walked headfirst into a ladder.

“Where-” he growled in barely restrained anger, “-did that come from?”

To his dismay Martín had no hesitation in climbing the first couple of rungs to point at a plaque around head height. Or head height for someone a bit taller than them both. All Oswald could do was stare blankly at the wording that read: Rose Suchak Ladder. By the time he’d assimilated that additional weirdness Martín had disappeared onto the roof.

“Martín!”

Naturally enough there was no reply and he realised he would have to go up as well. However he fetched the abandoned clothes first. He didn’t know what was happening but if their owner brought police back then Oswald didn’t want to leave anything incriminating lying around. It made it a little harder to follow Martín up the ladder but stubborn determination had never let Oswald down yet and it didn’t now.

He almost regretted it though when he came face to living face with not one but eight harnessed reindeer. On a subconscious level he appreciated the quality of workmanship that had gone into this scheme. The fastenings and fitments were all antique and looked expensive. On a far more rational sense however he wished Gotham would stop being quite so weird. The only good point was that Martín looked to be enjoying himself immensely. He was petting the reindeer and letting them lick his face, huffing breaths of laughter with each swipe of their tongue.

“Don’t do that,” Oswald admonished in far too lenient a voice. “You don’t know where they’ve been.”

Whether through obedience or sheer distraction, Martín turned his attention to the sleigh itself and rushed over to sit in the seat. Immediately he gestured for Oswald to join him.

“Oh no.” This time Oswald sounded far more stern. “This charade has gone far enough. We are going back to the ground and calling Jim to come deal with all this.”

He waved to encompass all the beasts stomping on his roof. The best decision he’d come to was a fast offensive. Getting to the GCPD first with his version of events. And that meant no dillying around with reindeer on the roof. It was not meeting with approval from Martín though who slumped back and pouted. Oswald gave him his best commanding look but it had little effect. With a sigh therefore he moved to stand on the sleigh runners where he could command some height advantage.

“I mean it Martín. Let’s go.”

At which point his world was swept out from under him as the reindeer obeyed the command and set off at a gallop.


	3. Chapter 3

It took some frantic fumbling and a desperate dive but Oswald made it into the sleigh proper alongside Martín. He’d barely done so however when it came to a stop on another rooftop. Glaring round, he fixated his angry look on the beasts in front of them.

“What are we doing here?” he demanded. It was far easier to focus on that than the impossibility of just  _ how  _ they’d got here.

Naturally enough the reindeer ignored his outburst but Martín responded. He yanked on his sleeve and pointed emphatically to the heaped costume dropped by their feet.

“What?” Oswald glanced with bemusement between his son and the suit, quite deliberately not interpreting the request.

Martín however wasn’t put off and dove into Oswald’s pockets to retrieve the pilfered card. Once he’d got it he held it up and tapped repeatedly by the line reading: put on the suit.

“Oh no.” Holding up his hands, Oswald shook his head determinedly. “I am not wearing some store bought suit that’s probably soaked in sweat. Not to mention other less than savoury stains. No way. At  _ all _ .”

Flipping his pad to a prewritten page of phrases, Martín batted his eyes and pointed at ‘please’.

“No,” Oswald insisted. “You can’t get what you want just by saying ‘please’. There are limits…” he trailed off as he saw the hand already scribbling something new.

“But you promised a  perfect , special Christmas.”

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” he protested. “It's hardly a normal family Christmas activity.”

With great deliberation, Martín underlined ‘special’ twice and Oswald gave in with a sigh.

“Fine.”

The beaming smile was some consolation as he reluctantly stepped into the trousers and hoisted them up.

“I hope whoever lives here is a tailor,” he muttered, pulling out the excess fabric to show Martín how huge they were on him.

It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that four of him could fit in the pants. Martín giggled while Oswald adjusted the suspenders to keep them up and then passed him the jacket. As he shucked that on he conceded that at least the suit wasn’t a dreadful polyester blend. The fabric was apparently velvet and he found himself admiring the white feathery trim to the garment. He felt noticeably warmer once ensconced and his mood improved somewhat.

“How do I look?” he asked with a smile.

He got a double thumbs up before Martín reached into the back of the sleigh to pass him the large sack lying there. Although it looked comparatively empty, once it was in his hand Oswald could feel the weight of something still in there and wondered if the guy had robbed anyone else that night. That thought was knocked out of his head almost instantly though when the bag swung up and lifted him off his feet and into the air. He clung on with both hands, barely able to comprehend just what was going on until he found himself suspended over the chimney.

“Oh no.”

He caught a final glimpse of Martín’s amazed face before everything went strangely blurred. When he blinked the muzziness away the view had changed to the interior of the house and glancing round showed he was in the fireplace. For a few seconds he rationalised the experience. He was very slight. It was theoretically possible he could have slipped down a particularly large chimney. The dust would have obscured his vision to tell. And maybe the sack had some helium inflation system within it.

Thinking about the sack prompted him to take a look inside. At first glance he couldn’t see anything that might have caused it to levitate but he put that problem aside momentarily. Stranger things had happened in Gotham after all. What was inside were a couple of neatly packaged parcels and he realised the intruder had most likely been on some sort of Grinch style crime spree. The very last thing he needed was to be found in possession of stolen goods but luckily he now had the perfect opportunity to get rid of them. Without further hesitation therefore he pulled them out and deposited them under the tree.

Happy with a problem solved he then returned to the fireplace to try and figure out how to get back to Martín. He let out a rather undignified yelp as the bag once again dragged him with it and he once again blinked his eyes to find the scene had changed again. Thankfully he was looking at Martín once more and he attempted to move to him only to realise he was still floating.

“Help me down,” he hissed worriedly, his feet treading air in desperation.

With a bit of scrambling Martín balanced over the edge of the sleigh and caught his leg to drag him down. Oswald winced slightly but was far too relieved to be safely down to complain at the manhandling.

“Well.” He managed a smile for the boy looking at him wide eyed. “That’s our holiday charity done. Two gifts redistributed.” He turned his attention to the reindeer and awkwardly picked up the reins. “Let’s go home,” he encouraged.

They obediently set off again and flew off the edge of the roof. Oswald held his breath in terror but, for whatever reason, the animals didn’t seem to obey the usual rules of gravity and ran through the air as if it were solid beneath their feet. He barely had time to recover his own equilibrium though before they stopped on another rooftop.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “This isn’t home!”

He tried snapping the reins again but all it got him was some disgruntled snorts and stamping hooves. 

“What do you expect me to do here?” he asked them somewhat rhetorically.

A tap on his elbow returned his attention to Martín who pointed back to the sack. Oswald made sure to inhale and calm himself before answering the implicit suggestion.

“There’s no more presents in there,” he explained. “Nothing more to deliver.”

Unanimously all the reindeer stomped a hoof, startling both passengers to look at them.

“Are you  _ arguing  _ with me?”

That got him a double hoof tap from all the reindeer simultaneously.

“One tap = no. Two = yes,” Martín suggested.

“I don’t care what they mean.” Oswald sucked in a breath quickly and bit his lip before continuing. “There’s  _ nothing  _ left in the sack.” To prove his point he reached into the back and pulled it back into sight. “See?”

Unfortunately it was perfectly obvious that there was  _ something  _ in there.

“Okay,” he conceded with a confused frown. “That’s strange because I’m sure-”

He got no further as the bag raised itself swiftly into the air, once again carrying him with it.

“No!” he insisted. “Do you hear me? No. There’s not a fireplace. How…”

He came to rest over a narrow ventilation pipe, scarce inches across.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The look on Martín’s face as he descended told its own story and Oswald was in many ways very grateful he didn’t seem to experience anything other than a brief black out as he travelled down into the room below. When he got there he couldn’t help but turn to look at where he’d arrived, only to see a fireside that could have come straight off a Christmas card. He poked at it but it felt real enough. Adding that to his suddenly increasing mental list of inexplicable events, he focused on the apparent purpose to this visit.

Walking over to the neat little tree he fished into the bag and pulled out a very pretty dolly. The clothes and style reminded him viscerally of his mother and he was hit momentarily with a vision of some small child finding her in the morning and lavishing her with love and affection. A flicker caught his eye and he noticed a label which he hadn’t seen before hanging about her neck. Turning it gingerly, he felt the breath suck out of him as he read the name tag:  _ Gertrud _ .

He cuddled the precious gift and looked again around the room, recollecting his own poor childhood and how special Christmas had always been to them. There was an undeniable joy in having a hand in spreading some happiness to other children now. Therefore he smiled genuinely as he settled the dolly in pride of place under the tree, looking out to greet her new friend in the morning, and then returned to the fireplace.

This time he was less off guard and had less trouble maneuvering back into the sleigh. Martín helped him down but had obviously used the time to prepare questions for him.

“What’s it like?”

“Strange,” he answered truthfully. “But not unpleasant.”

“Can you do it again?”

“I don’t know.” His lips quirked in a smile. “Shall we find out?”

Snapping the reins he was less disappointed this time when they found another stopping point. He was actually genuinely interested now in seeing the inside of some of these places, commenting afterwards upon the decor to Martín who in turn quizzed him about how he got through such narrow gaps or how the sack worked. Oswald couldn’t answer any of those questions but it didn’t seem to matter. Martín was obviously enjoying the experience and Oswald could think of hundreds of worse ways to spend his time. Particularly when he figured out that a lot of people were leaving drinks and snacks for Santa.

The sun rising indicated the end of their magical excursion and he briefly wondered that neither of them were showing signs of exhaustion from being up all night. It seemed likely they had finished their route since the reindeer were now bypassing places as they made for home. Wrapping an arm about Martín, Oswald actually thanked whatever force was responsible for gifting him this once in a lifetime experience for their first Christmas together. Privately he believed it was his mother’s spirit and he sent a heartfelt thank you to the morning star for her blessing.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they set down at their destination any sense of goodwill Oswald had felt had well and truly deserted him.

“Does this look like home to you?!” he yelled at the reindeer.

To his mild horror they somehow shook off their harness and trampled off, leaving him and Martín sat out in an open sleigh in the middle of a snowstorm. He’d stood up in some futile gesture of command as the reindeer had made their escape and now used his vantage point to assess their surroundings. There was nothing to be seen but ice and snow in every direction. Above them nothing but a crystal clear sky with more stars than he’d ever imagined could exist. If their situation had been less distressing then he might even have enjoyed the view.

As it was he sat back next to Martín and pulled him close to share body warmth. Martín however was clearly distracted by something else and pulled away enough to peer around himself.

“Martín?”

In response to his questioning tone the boy cupped a hand to his ear, prompting Oswald to listen. It took him a few seconds to recognise what Martín had picked up on beyond the sound of blustering winds but, somewhere, people were singing carols. They each tried to isolate the direction but both snapped their gazes forward as a figure trundled out from behind a snow drift.

They were wearing what looked to be an outfit cobbled together from two halves of other outfits. Red down the left side of his jacket, black down the right, and reversed on the pants. He looked very like the type of person Oswald regularly hired for heavy duty work except for the jester’s style hat upon his head.

Still beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was probably that sense of recognition which spurred Oswald into addressing them in his usual charming manner.

“Friend! I wonder if you can help us. We’re a little lost.”

The figure smiled cheerily at them, which felt rather inappropriate in the circumstances, but then turned to pull something up out from the snow at his feet.

“What,” Oswald muttered lowly to Martín, “Is that?”

He glanced down to see the answer suggested for him.

“I think it's the North Pole.”

He opened his mouth to protest but then hesitated. Truthfully geography had never been his strong point, at least as far as it involved places outside of Gotham. And the striped pole did look how one would imagine the North Pole might be marked. Any discussion of the point was disregarded the moment that they felt the ground beneath them judder and Oswald clutched Martín protectively while he assessed what was happening.

It was immediately apparent that the sleigh was on a platform of some kind and that they were now descending downwards. Oswald almost wanted to flee but was cautioned against it by the memory of the bleak winter wonderland above them. Instead he focused his attention on the new scenery surrounding them and his mouth dropped open in utter surprise. It was a bustling place with people of all kinds coming and going with obvious purpose. Around the perimeter of their lowering lift were stalls which were occupied with the escaped reindeer. Figures in various styles of dress were removing their trappings, bringing them food or brushing them down.

By the time that the platform had shuddered to a halt though, Oswald had picked out an individual set apart from the others. Asides from the fact that he was merely walking around the perimeter watching the goings on, his clothing was, to a practised eye, a distinct cut above the rest. Strangely though, although the side facing him looking pristine white, he couldn’t see the far side well enough to judge. Oswald kept him in view even as he placed a cautioning hand upon Martín.

“Stay here,” he instructed firmly.

He didn’t wait for a response but trusted the strangeness of their situation would for once keep the boy in line. Then he made a beeline for his target.

“Hey! You there.”

The man stopped walking but Oswald felt he only had half his attention. Certainly he was turned so he could continue watching the goings on around them.

“I want to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

“Right now,” the man drawled in a suave tone, “That would be you, Santa. Give it a week though-”

His voice had dropped an octave but Oswald scarcely noticed as he briskly interrupted.

“There has clearly been some mistake. I am not Santa. I am Oswald Cobblepot.”

This only drew a chuckle out of the man but then he half glanced Oswald’s way.

“The other guy fell off the roof, didn’t he?”

Righteous indignation welled up in him at the reference.

“That was an  _ accident _ ,” he insisted. “He slipped. Not my fault.”

“Whatever,” a hand waved dismissively. “You read the card, right? Put on the suit? That means you’re Santa now.”

“What? No!”

Finally, he received the man’s full attention and he turned to face him, making Oswald flinch instinctively. The half of his face that he hadn’t been able to see, he  _ still  _ couldn’t see. That whole half of his body remained shrouded in darkness that swirled about his features. Occasionally Oswald thought he could see an eye but it could as easily have been wishful thinking. Unperturbed by the reaction, the bifurcated man carried on his argument.

“Putting on the suit and entering the sleigh clearly falls under the jurisdiction of the Santa Clause.”

“Whose jurisdiction?” Oswald demanded, looking around mostly to avoid the disturbing visage in front of him. “Let me speak to them.”

“Not  _ whose _ ,” he was corrected. “What. The clause as in the last line of a contract.”

As Oswald merely continued to stare, albeit more in horrified fascination with the half hidden face, his interlocutor lost patience.

“You still got the card?” he demanded.

Oswald obligingly pulled it from his pocket and handed it over. With resignation of long familiarity it was held out for him beneath a magnifying glass pulled from a concealed pocket. The guy didn’t even need to look at it himself as he recited with perfect accuracy the tiny small print edging the card like a decoration.

“The Santa Clause: In putting on the suit and entering the sleigh the wearer waives any and all rights to any previous identity, real or implied, and fully accepted the duties and responsibilities of Santa Claus in perpetuity until such time that the wearer becomes unable to do so by either accident or design.”

Oswald blinked as he waited a couple of seconds to be sure he’d finished before smiling politely and repeating.

“What?”

“You put on the suit and you’re Santa,” the man paraphrased with obvious annoyance. Oswald opened his mouth to argue some more when the man’s attention diverted downwards. “Who’s this?”

He glanced but already knew who it would be. There was only one other stranger to this place that he knew about after all.

“Martín,” he complained. “I told you to stay in the sleigh.” It was a pointless exercise to send him back now so he resigned himself to introductions. “This is my son, Martín. Martín, this is-”

He cut off as he realised he hadn’t got a name or designation for the individual in front of him and waited to see if he would oblige and fill in the blank.

“Harvey,” he announced, extending his visible hand to be shaken. “The personification of New Year. Pleasure to meet you Martín.”

The boy turned excitedly to Oswald and he knew precisely why. It was nothing to do with meeting an apparent manifestation of a holiday season, nor someone half shrouded in mist. No, what was cheering Martín no end was hearing his name pronounced correctly first time.

“Come on,” Harvey announced, turning on his heel and marching off. “You need to get out of the suit. It has to be dry cleaned.”

Clutching Martín’s hand, Oswald hurried after him.

“Wait a minute. Don’t I get any say in this? No cooling off period? No chance to rethink?”

“No. that’s the way the cookie crumbles I’m afraid.”

“But what if I don’t want to do this? What if I choose  _ not  _ to believe?”

He’d managed to time that ultimatum for the moment they stepped into an impressive room full of more busy workers and lined, with of all things, giant penguin statues. Everywhere was strewn with wrapping paper and tinsel, bells and garlands. And everyone in the room was staring horrified at him, having seemingly heard his declaration. Harvey swiftly moved back to stare at him.

“Then there’ll be millions of disappointed children around the world. See, children hold the spirit of Christmas within their hearts. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for killing the spirit of Christmas, would you Santa?”

Martín’s hand squeezed his tighter and Oswald didn’t need to look to know he’d see a wide eyed pleading look from him at the very suggestion. Truthfully Oswald didn’t want to disillusion any child at Christmas. He knew how important such times could be for those with little else to look forward to. Still Harvey’s speech had reminded him of another salient point he felt he had to mention. Leaning forward therefore he whispered carefully.

“I can’t be Santa,” he hissed. “I’ve killed people.”

To his surprise the admission earned him a smirk.

“Did you miss the part about ‘by accident or  _ design’ _ ,” Harvey whispered back.

The shock of realising some people may have killed to  _ become  _ Santa stymied him long enough for Harvey to escape with the last word.

“You have eleven months to get your affairs in order and then you’re due back at Thanksgiving. I’ll ship the list to your house. Harley will show you to your room.”

“What list?” he called helplessly. “Who’s Harley?”

“Hiya!”

Both he and Martín turned to see a miniature train had pulled up beside them with a harlequin riding it. He couldn’t help but note she was wearing the same colour scheme as the first resident they’d seen up in the snow, albeit with appliqued diamonds. She smiled brightly.

“Hop on.”

Naturally Martín clambered aboard without further hesitation so Oswald followed suit with only a mild huff of irritation. Whether it was the rocking motion of the train or simply the excitement of the day but the curly head starting nodding off against his shoulder before they got to their stop. Once there therefore he lifted the sleepy boy into his arms and followed the smiling guide into what turned out to be a lavish bedroom. Oswald knew that if Martín had been awake it would have been a treasure trove of delights for him but as it was Oswald simply stripped him of his coat and boots and settled him under the covers of the comfortable bed.

Then he turned his attention to Harley who was watching with great attention.

“You have a real fondness for children don’t ya?”

He tried to glare but after everything he’d been through he was too tired to maintain the look and simply sank down to sit on the steps leading up to the bed.

“You look distressed.”

The understatement brought a harsh laugh out of him.

“I am  _ way  _ past distressed,” he told her plainly.

“Why’s that?” She came and sat beside him, the bells on the points of her hat jingling gently.

Her innocence touched him and he toned down his irritation.

“Look. You’re a nice little elf-”

“Ah. Let me just stop you there.” She held up a hand. “I’m not an elf.”

“You’re not?”

His gaze plainly took in the elaborate costume, incorporating belled hat. If she noted that she didn’t show it though.

“Nope. I’m a legendary figure. Like you and Harvey. Elfs are  _ employees  _ of legendary figures.”

“Legendary figures,” Oswald muttered with another shake of his head.

“Yup,” she continued blithely. “I’m St Valentine’s day’s cupid.”

“Cupid,” he said disbelievingly. “Where’s your bow and arrow?”

She shrugged.

“It ain’t Valentine’s day. I don't carry it all the time. Besides I prefer a mallet to whack people upside the head with.” Next to her Oswald began to laugh quietly. “What?”

“This is ridiculous. I stopped believing in fairy tales like this a  _ long  _ time ago.”

“I’m not so sure you did,” she countered. “Haven’t you given Martín a fairy tale ending?”

“That’s not the same at all. I’m just trying to be a good parent to him. This-” he gestured to the room of seemingly never ending toys which he suspected were running on something other than simple battery power. “It's a dream. I see it but I don’t believe it.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“What is the point?” he asked quickly. He had intended to sound dismissive but came across as far too plaintive.

“Seeing isn’t believing. Believing is seeing.” She looked at him intently. “Kids don’t have to see this place to know that it’s here. They just know.”

He couldn’t help but swivel to look at where Martín was peacefully sleeping. Truly, at that age, anything did seem possible.

“Get some sleep.” Harley patted his shoulder as she stood. “And change outta those clothes. They reek.”

He couldn’t help but agree with her diagnosis as he peeled off his layers and donned the red silk pajamas laid out for him. It wasn’t his usual choice of colour but he wondered why not as he admired the richness of it. Then he gratefully crawled into the bed beside Martín and fell asleep listening to the calm rhythm of his breathing. He hoped he’d remember this dream come the morning so he could tell Martín all about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Christmas Day dawned as perfectly as a scripted movie. Which was to say Oswald was awoken when it was barely dawn by an excited ten year old practically bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he agreed, albeit flopping back against the pillows as soon as Martín barrelled out of the room again. He needed a minute to recover from the weird dream he’d awoken from. Obviously he’d been putting too much emphasis on making Christmas perfect if he started dreaming he was the new Saint Nick.

He laughed at himself silently as he finally sat up and slid his feet into his slippers. Then stopped short as he stared down at his legs. His scarlet clad legs.

“What the hell?”

Plucking at the fabric did nothing to change the reality and he desperately tried to think if at any point yesterday he’d been gifted new pajamas. He’d been tired last night after finishing the preparations, perhaps he’d forgotten opening a random gift? Or maybe he had a red pari he’d forgotten about and had in his distraction slipped them on.

More on autopilot than anything else he wandered downstairs to join Martín where he had already started on unwrapping the presents under the tree. As soon as he saw Oswald enter the room he rushed over with something to show him and Oswald immediately put aside his confusion in order to focus on him. A large ornate snowglobe was being held up for his approval and he diligently nodded.

“Very nice. Who’s that from? Remember to keep track because we’ll have to say thank you later.”

Martín showed him the accompanying label. At first glance it looked like ‘Harley’ but then he reconsidered.

“Harvey? I wouldn’t have thought Bullock would have bought you a gift.”

He received a shake of the head and Martín quickly corrected him.

“Harvey from the North Pole.”

“Oh.” Oswald smiled indulgently at him. “That’s right. The personification of New Year, right?”

Then his brain caught up with him even as Martín nodded confirmation. “Wait a minute. I didn’t tell you about my dream yet.”

“I went too.”

“We had the same dream?”

He was interrupted from investigating further by the arrival of Olga in the doorway.

“с Рождеством,” she offered briskly. “Breakfast is ready.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking before Martín rushed over to embrace her. Even from where he was stood Oswald could see her surly demeanour melt. He followed and smiled warmly in turn.

“Merry Christmas Olga.”

He only got a grunt but that didn’t bother him. It was normal and what he wanted was a wonderful normal Christmas day with his son. He therefore put any concerns about shared dreams or unexpected gifts aside and focused on enjoying the day. Unfortunately he put the concerns aside so well that he forgot they actually existed by the end of the day. Everything had been magical and the factor of a shared dream experience drifted into the background. By Boxing Day it wasn’t even a blip on his radar any more. In fact, it wasn’t until school had restarted for Martín again that the issue was brought forcibly back to him.

The call from the headmistress wasn’t unusual. Given Martín’s muteness and upbringing he was often a target for bullies, who generally came to regret that decision pretty quickly. It was a subject of irritation for Oswald though that it was inevitably Martín who would wind up in trouble, merely for defending himself. He was therefore already on edge before even seeing that Doctor Thompkins had also been called in.

“Mister Cobblepot,” the headmistress smiled tersely and gestured for him to sit.

He decided the best defense was a quick offense and didn’t allow anything further to be said before having his say.

“Headmistress. We have had these discussions before. I will not discipline my son for defending himself when the adults in charge of his care fail to do so adequately. When you take action to rein in the bullies-”

“Mister Cobblepot,” she interrupted determinedly. “This is about something other than Martín getting in a fight.”

“Oh?” Oswald glanced to Martín who was pouting in the chair next to him.

On the other side, Lee leant forward to speak.

“Martín took exception to another boy saying Santa wasn’t real.”

“So? Children’s belief is a powerful thing.”

“Except he doesn’t just believe Santa is real,” Lee persisted. “He believes Santa is  _ you _ .”

Oswald turned his surprised gaze onto the headmistress but she was apparently content to sit this one out now that the medical professional was handling it. He instead glanced to Martín who was staring adamantly into his own lap.

“That’s ridiculous,” he objected.

At once Martín looked up with a wounded expression, opening his notebook to argue back.

“But it's true! We went to the North Pole.”

“That was a dream, Martín,” he countered pointedly but Lee was undeterred.

“Oswald. What was the last thing that you and Martín did Christmas Eve?”

“I taught him how to stab traitors,” he snapped back mockingly. Unfortunately his female audience didn’t appreciate his sense of humour and arched identical eyebrows at him. “I read him a book.”

“What book?” she persisted.

“The Godfather.” Once again his joke was ignored and he relented. “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

“And do  _ you  _ believe you went to the North Pole?”

He stood up abruptly.

“I do not have time for this. Martín had an enchanting Christmas, in a proper home, with a real family. And you’re complaining because he’s developed a belief in fairy tales? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but kids are  _ supposed  _ to have vivid imaginations.”

Seizing Martín by the hand he encouraged him up and led him to the door. Doctor Thompkins however wasn’t done.

“Oswald. If he persists in showing signs of delusion then I’ll have no choice but to report it.”

Although his teeth clenched at the reminder, he was at least grateful she hadn’t spelled out the conclusion in front of the child. Therefore he merely nodded tersely before escorting his son out of school. He recollected the day when he’d found out Santa wasn’t real. All the bigger kids laughing at him for thinking it was true. His desperate backtracking to try and gain their acceptance followed later by his mother’s sadness at her little boy growing up. He didn’t want Martín to find out that way, proud though he was of him for sticking up for his beliefs. He waited until they were secure in the back of the chauffeur driven car before broaching the subject again though.

“Martín,” he began determinedly, turning to face him. “There’s no…”

His words dried up in his throat as he looked at the innocent gaze watching him expectantly. Looking to him as if he had every answer and would always be the one to come to his rescue. How could he be the one to deny him this happy comfort? To sully a memory of his first Christmas that had gone better than either of them could ever have hoped. He quickly changed tacks.

“There’s no reason why we have to tell anybody about the North Pole.”

“Why not?”

“Well, sometimes, some things, big things,” he stumbled over the words as he sought a reasonable lie. He did not want to worry Martín with the threat of going back to the orphanage. “Should remain unsaid. Like between two people.”

“You mean a secret?”

“Yes,” Oswald latched onto the word gratefully. “Let’s keep it secret.”

“Why?”

“Because of Jim and Lee.” He grimaced as the words slipped out. “Not just because of them. There’s school. Everybody thinks… but it's not important what they think. How does five bucks sound?” A glance showed that Martín wanted to understand more than he wanted cash. Oswald sighed. “There are times when things I do have to be kept secret for our safety. Times when other people simply wouldn’t understand the situation. Like with you to today. Wouldn’t it have been better if the headmistress hadn’t been told about the fight? You kids would have sorted everything out between yourselves and no-one else would have needed to be bothered. Not that I’m bothered. I’ll always be here for you Martín, you know that?”

He received an immediate nod in response and relaxed a little.

“I need you to keep this secret for me. Will you do that? Please?”

Another nod of the head preceded Martín shuffling across the seat to wrap his arms about Oswald. All the tension leached out from Oswald’s shoulders and he embraced his son in turn.

“Great. I don’t have to worry about the Santa Claus thing anymore.”

Martín shimmied out to grab his board again.

“When do I get the $5?”

His eye roll was entirely too fond to be convincing.

“Keep quiet about the North Pole for a month,” he bargained. “And I’ll add it to your allowance.”


	6. Chapter 6

It felt just typical of Oswald’s life that he no sooner solved one potential problem than another cropped up in its place. The deal with Martín was working well and the boy was even fitting in better at school now he’d developed an ability for subterfuge. But obviously the movers and shakers of Gotham’s underworld society didn’t sit still for long. Finally, Oswald had decided to bring them all together to work out acceptable terms for everyone to work semi-peacefully under the one umbrella. Naturally he had a very good idea of how things should go.

And that was screwed the minute he got up and saw himself in the mirror.

Thankfully Martín had already gone to school so there was no-one around to hear him scream. He wasn’t sure which issue worried him most. The sudden weight gain or the white hairs amassing to turn his once pitch black hair grey. It might have been paranoia but he was also sure his hair shouldn’t have grown out so much already. There was no way he’d be able to fashion these strands into his normal spiky up-do.

Or he shouldn’t have been able to. Fierce determination and a bottle of hairspray eventually did the trick. Shaving quickly he tried to rationalise the strange situation. It seemed obvious that it must be the effect of some plot by an enemy. Perhaps a poison that he’d imbibed in too small a dose to be fatal, maybe inducing an allergic reaction. He resolved to tell Olga to replace every food and drink item in the house. Or at least any that had been opened recently.

His primary concern was what he might possibly wear to this meeting. In all likelihood the true aim of whoever had done this was to keep him from attending so there was no question but that he had to go. Yet none of his suits would fit him in this state. The thought occurred to him that Elijah might have trunks with old clothes in that would fit. Hideously out of style no doubt but hopefully presentable enough for the people he was due to see.

He finally made it to the Iceberg Lounge, what might be generously called fashionably late, but unfortunately that only made his entrance a bigger deal than he would have liked. Everyone turned when he hastened inside, trying to cover his anxiety with false impatience.

“As you’ll have guessed I am  _ very  _ busy,” he suggested immediately, making for the head of the table. “So let’s keep this brief.”

Needless to say, few people present took any notice. Certainly not Barbara.

“What happened to you?” she practically giggled with delight.

He resisted the urge to hide himself by sitting and tilted his head back defiantly. He’d been lucky enough to find pants that fit his wider waist, though the bottoms were hacked and pinned up hopefully in a manner no-one would spot, but any jacket that wrapped around him hung far too low to look anything but ridiculous and eventually he’d settled on a comfy cardigan in a sombre colour. His only option was to try and take control of the discussion at once.

“That, Ms Kean, is what I’d like to know. It seems I’ve suffered an allergic reaction. Possibly due to someone adding something to my food or drink.”

He cast his piercing gaze around, hoping to spot a flicker of guilt somewhere but everyone looked genuinely surprised.

“Or you were just unlucky,” she proposed before adding innocently. “Perhaps you should share what you’re allergic to? So we can be sure to avoid it.”

He threw a snarky look at her to which she merely smiled back. They were then interrupted by Zsasz speaking up.

“That is mesmerising.”

“What?” Oswald swung back round to look at the assassin. Whose gaze was fixed slightly above Oswald’s head.

“Your hair. It's like a little mohawk waving about.” He flexed his own hand in the air between them in imitation of the apparent motion.

“If everyone is quite done critiquing my appearance,” Oswald pulled out his chair and sat. “Perhaps we can get on with the meeting.”

“Fine,” Barbara relented, turning again to the assembled gang bosses. “This is a friendly get together so we can agree some boundaries. There’s no sense wasting resources fighting each other when everyone can profit by some gentlemen's agreements.”

Oswald listened vaguely to the spiel, having already discussed it with Barbara and Zsasz in advance. He suspected he knew how everyone would react but he couldn’t be certain. His mind ticked over the possibilities with agitation and he barely paid any attention to the waitress checking if he wanted anything from the bar. It wasn’t until his order had been delivered and he’d settled in that he realised he’d done anything unusual. Gradually all the voices round the table fell silent and every eye fixed on him. It was at that point he realised he was tucking in to a large sundae and had a plate of half munched cookies beside him.

“An allergy?” Barbara said accusingly.

“Is my calorie intake any concern of yours?”

He glared back at her but knew the effect was spoiled slightly by the trickle of ice cream at the corner of his mouth. Swiping it away angrily he turned his glare on everyone else.

“Does anyone else have anything to say about my diet?”

Zsas raised a hand and Oswald felt his own go to his knife instinctively.

“Can I have a cookie?”

In a moment of generosity he threw a cookie down to the man who caught it with ease. Then he began stuffing the rest into his pockets.

“As for the rest of you. If I catch any of you operating within hailing distance of the Lounge then you’ll receive a personal visit from Zsasz. Do I make myself clear?”

Several confused nods met the statement but he didn’t wait for a general agreement. Instead he seized the remnants of his sundae and stalked out. As soon as he got in the car though he made a quick change of plans.

“Take me to the doctor’s surgery,” he told the driver.

He sullenly continued his frozen treat while mulling over the possibility that he was suffering an allergic reaction to something. He didn’t think he’d had anything different in his diet recently but a doctor’s opinion on the subject certainly couldn’t hurt. And if he was investing in the man’s practice then it only made sense to get some use out of it. Following his shooting at the hands of Theo Galavan he’d been lucky to survive and subsidising this up and coming medical practitioner seemed a good way to ensure he’d have help on hand if he ever needed it again.

The man was anxious when Oswald announced his presence but obviously bemused that the request was only for a check up and nothing immediately life threatening. Yet he treated the appointment as seriously as if it were a matter of life or death, perhaps suspecting his own career might be at stake. That being the case, Oswald was put through a rigorous run of tests, his least favourite part of which was jogging on a treadmill. He was both horrified and somewhat fascinated by the way his stomach now jiggled like a bowlful of jelly as he ran. It was a relief to find that the added weight seemingly had no impact upon his injured leg. Which if anything had felt much better of late.

“Alrighty.” The doctor gestured him off and back onto the examination bed already prepared to test his blood pressure.

Oswald sat patiently while his vitals were checked, unsure whether feeling fine was a good thing or not given the obvious physical changes he was experiencing. His stomach clenched though when the man spoke again.

“Well shoot.” He obviously caught Oswald’s worried glance and corrected himself. “Oh no, you’re fine. What can I say, you’re healthy as a horse.”

“Does this look healthy to you?” To make his point Oswald hefted his belly so it rippled again.

“You put on a little weight,” the doctor agreed. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Every other function is operating at perfect levels. And weight can fluctuate.”

“Fluctuate? I’ve gained 45 pounds in a week!”

“Well, what’s your diet like?”

Abruptly Oswald’s mind returned to the empty sundae glass out in the car, and the sundry plates of sweets he’d consumed recently.

“I’ve been stressed,” he commented defensively.

“That could certainly contribute to weight gains,” was the diplomatic answer.

“Would that explain my hair too?”

“Your hair?”

“It's going grey!” Oswald protested. “And I’m sure it's growing faster too.”

He was vaguely aware that he sounded slightly paranoid but thankfully the doctor either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“Well, stress could be a factor. Or a hormonal imbalance.”

As Oswald mulled that over, the doctor set his equipment aside.

“Look if it bothers you, you can dye it.” He grinned abruptly. “And you should  _ diet _ .”

Oswald rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bed.

“Yes, thank you for that brilliant advice.”

He briskly pulled his various layers back on and strode out with his head held high. By the time he’d got back into the car he’d adjusted more to the appraisal. The important take away was that he was healthy. The extra weight was not a big cause for concern and he might even grow to appreciate having a more dominating figure. He was currently more fixated upon his hair. Especially when he ran a hand across his chin to find stubble already growing. It was his firm opinion that people with beards simply looked unkempt and he was not about to appear in public that way. Thus resolved, he determined to ignore the weight issue and focus instead on maintaining the classic look he’d made synonymous with the Penguin.

“On to my tailors,” he instructed the driver.

He would order some more generously sized suits and then determine how best to keep his facial hair at bay.


	7. Chapter 7

Oswald wiped his smooth chin over with a towel and admired himself in the mirror. As he looked, a bushel of white hairs started growing out and he slammed his hands down either side of the sink.

“Oh no you don’t!” he growled venomously.

Under his continuing glare the growth retreated until all he could see was a smooth chin once more. Or double chin but that was a non issue to him now. He glanced briskly to the strands of long hair now resting over his shoulder and saw the growth add on there in seeming retaliation. It had been something of a battle to fight back the unwanted beard but he was definitely winning now. Most days his hair growth remained normal and it was getting rarer to experience these disobedient growth spurts. He’d conceded to the long hair otherwise, and they’d drawn a truce over coloration. His head hair was now a mix of pure black or pure white stripes but he made that work with his nom de guerre.

Tying the silky strands back with an elegant ribbon he mentally began going over his plans for the day. Now that Martín was back at school after the summer holidays, Oswald was free to devote more of his time to the Iceberg Lounge again. It had been necessary to legalise the equal partnership with Barbara to enable the continued smooth running of the club while he devoted time to his family and maintaining his fearsome reputation among the criminal underworld of Gotham. His reputation was now such that few people dared to cross him and generally only a hint of his displeasure was enough to set them straight again.

He might have been more resentful of sharing ownership of his hard earned nightclub except for the fact that he had something else that Barbara jealously coveted, namely a child of his own. That sore spot had only gotten worse for her when Jim and Lee had revealed they were expecting. It was only too easy to twist that particular knife and he did so whenever she got too pushy herself. She generally got distracted then with a rant about how unfit Jim was to be a father and, in all honesty, Oswald couldn’t help but agree. Still, he tried his best to keep out of Jim Gordon’s business whenever possible.

A summon to the front door distracted him from his accessorizing and he went down with half a mind still on which cufflinks to select.

“Got a delivery from a ‘Harvey’? You expecting something?”

“What? No. No, wait.” He recollected asking Bullock for files on those cops who had taken bribes under Falcone. At the time all he’d gotten was a rude gesture but it occurred to him that perhaps there’d been a change of heart. “Does it look like it might be a list of corrupt officials?”

The delivery guy glanced speculatively back to his truck.

“Could be,” he conceded. “There’s quite a lot of packages.”

“Excellent. Bring them into the hallway.”

He was about to step back to allow entry when his eye saw another distinctive vehicle roll up. Grimacing he turned to glance at Olga.

“Keep an eye on things here,” he instructed.

“Da,” she responded dully.

With that less than reassuring affirmation, Oswald slipped on his shoes and stepped out to accost the petty cop approaching his home.

“Yes?” he demanded irritably.

“I’m here to see Mister Cobblepot.”

“Yes,” Oswald repeated briskly. “That’s me.”

That clearly startled the cop who looked again at him.

“But-” his gaze dipped down to the prominent swell of stomach before hurrying back to his face. “Umm. Right. Well. Captain Gordon wants you down at the station.”

Symbolically planting his feet more firmly, Oswald crossed his arms defiantly.

“Might I ask what  _ for _ ? I’m not aware of any crime I could be connected to.”

“Your son-” the man began to say but got no further as Oswald interrupted.

“Martín? Why didn’t you say at once this concerned him. Come on. You can tell me what’s happened on the way.”

He left Olga to finish overseeing the delivery and wasted no time settling into the backseat of the car, more for his own comfort than to appease the policeman. The journey didn’t furnish him with many details except for confirming that Martín was uninjured but apparently in trouble. Oswald vehemently hoped it would be something normal like shoplifting although with his boy’s gift for schemes he doubted it.

In his preoccupation with Martín’s situation though Oswald had clean forgotten how his own appearance might be received and he felt a momentary discomfort at the surprised ripple that drifted out with his arrival in the bullpen. It only lasted a second however before his natural courage reinstated itself and he made a beeline for the Captain’s office. By the time he’d reached that door he’d found he actually liked having the additional size to impress upon anyone thinking about getting in his way that it was a bad idea.

“James Gordon,” he announced himself with aplomb. “What is the meaning of holding a minor without an adult present to look after his interests?”

His stirring speech was lost unfortunately as Jim was utterly distracted by his new looks.

“What the hell happened to you? You look like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

The resounding silence that followed that remark brought Jim back to find himself subject to a very unimpressed stare.

“As I was saying,” Oswald bit out icily. “I hope you have a good reason for holding a minor without an adult present.”

“Martín isn’t being  _ held _ ,” Jim amended, bringing the discussion back onto the matter at hand and gesturing for Oswald to sit. “But I am concerned. More so now I’ve seen you in fact.”

Oswald took the proffered seat and cast a glance to his son, both for any hint what the matter was but also to check he looked alright. He got a rather chagrined look in return which wasn’t as reassuring as he would have liked.

“The headmistress contacted me because Martín has been running a betting ring.”

“Oh?” Oswald couldn’t hide his impressed tone but tried to mitigate it. “Surely that’s not too out of the ordinary for young children?”

“Maybe not but given the history here I think she was right to be concerned. It seems Martín has been taking bets on whether Santa is real or not. With the odds he was offering it seems he stood to make a good deal if he could somehow prove he was. And kids were flocking to bet that he wasn’t. There’s no way he could afford to pay out on that.”

The implication Jim was making was very clear. Martín clearly had no doubts about it and was playing on what he perceived was the other kids’ ignorance. Rather than answer Jim directly, Oswald chose to address his son.

“Martín? Can you explain yourself?” He lowered his voice slightly. “I thought we had a deal?”

Pages rustled as Martín hastened to reply.

“I didn’t  tell anyone you’re Santa,” he insisted. “If I did they wouldn’t have bet.”

Really Oswald couldn’t fault his logic. And it was a scheme worthy of his son, utilising what he felt was insider knowledge to rig a betting pool. Unfortunately his silence lingered too long and in his focus on Martín he didn’t notice Jim maneuver himself to read over his shoulder.

“He still thinks you’re Santa,” he accused, causing Oswald to spin and glare. He bit back his retort about eavesdropping in order to deal with the bigger issue.

“I swear I spoke to him about it,” he protested but Jim wasn’t listening anymore.

Instead the Captain stepped back again to stare at his new physique.

“Oh my god. You’re actually changing yourself to fit the stereotype aren’t you?”

“What? No. This is all just hormonal.”

Jim was shaking his head dismissively before Oswald even finished.

“This is not healthy Oswald. For you or Martín.”

“Jim, I swear to you, this is all just a coincidence. Martín doesn’t believe I’m Santa.” He reached a hand back to rest on the boy’s pad just in case he tried to argue with that. “And the weight gain really has been unintentional. I checked with a doctor and it's a simple fluctuation in my metabolism. I promise you. Please,” he added. “Don’t send Martín back to that place.”

Behind him he felt small hands clutch suddenly at where his own was resting and, if Jim’s glance was any indication, he’d seen it too. The man let out a sigh.

“I’ll give you one last chance Oswald. Do you hear me? One. But I’ll need to see real changes.”

“You will,” he agreed immediately. “Absolutely.”

“That means you actively try to lose the weight.” He switched his gaze to Martín. “And  _ no  _ more trouble at school.” His eyes roved back. “And not a single reference to Santa between now and Thanksgiving. Do I make myself plain?”

“Yes. We understand. Don’t we Martín?” He glanced back to see an emphatic nod and smiled with relief that Martín understood their position. Looking back to the Captain he attempted to appear contrite. “May we go now?”

There was another long suffering sigh before Jim relented and waved them on their way. Not before throwing out an additional caution however.

“By Thanksgiving remember. I’ll be checking up on you.”

They didn’t respond but continued their retreat outside where Oswald was quick to ring for their ride home. He then let out his own breath of relief and shared an understanding look with Martín.

“We can’t let Gordon see anything untoward when he visits. You understand, don’t you?”

He received another eager nod and accepted that for now. It had been a very strange year but if they could just make it past Christmas then he was sure everything would settle down again. He just had to focus on making it to Thanksgiving first. But there was no reason he could see that they shouldn’t manage that with ease. He had everything well in hand.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the naughty or nice list that did for them. When the pair got home from their visit to the GCPD it was to find the entire hallway and most of the living room stacked with boxes. Opening one at random showed a page of what appeared to be hand drawn names and Oswald felt an urge to start checking it. Instead he slammed it back in the box and corralled Martín and Olga into helping him move them out of sight.

He had decided to arrange to have it removed and disposed of but hesitated before doing so. Superficially he told himself that the arrangement to transport so much paperwork would draw notice best avoided but deep down his gut clenched at the idea of its destruction. Instead he found himself randomly picking out sheets and almost automatically marking the names with either a P or a C. It became a reflective habit when he was thinking and naturally it wasn’t long before Martín caught him at it.

“P and C?” he signed with the basic ASL alphabet he was learning.

Oswald blinked at the apparent question, not having really thought about what he was doing and certainly not why. However Martín pieced together the answer before he could and switched to his notebook to explain.

“P = present, C = coal.”

Looking back to the list, Oswald couldn’t exactly dispute the concept, even though he wished he could.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t…” Oswald trailed off before concluding. “I just know.”

He might have worried more about that if the whole thing didn’t seem to give Martín so much pleasure and also provide a bonding activity of sorts. Martín became something of an enabler, sitting with his homework along the desk from Oswald and watching for when to replace one diminishing box with another as Oswald worked his way through them. Oswald found he could easily read through official documents in one hand while working through the list with the other. It became as unregarded as having a plate of cookies on the side. Which was why he should have realised it would be dangerous. To be fair though, he hadn’t exactly expected an unannounced visit from the captain of the GCPD himself on Thanksgiving.

“Captain Gordon!” He stood with surprise, his eyes flickering to the men behind his guest. “Detectives. To what do I owe this visit?”

“I told you I’d be checking up, Oswald.” Gordon stepped warily forward, his gaze taking in Oswald’s attire. Somewhat unfortunately, feeling in the holiday spirit he’d donned a rich purple suit that he’d paired with a red waistcoat and he realised abruptly that he’d removed his jacket earlier.

“Ah, yes, you did. And I am sure there can have been no reports of any further incidents.” He was very aware of the backup detectives framing the doorway and his anxiety grew. “My doctor can report that I’ve been seeking recommendations for weight loss options to pursue.”

“I’m sure.” Jim shot him a wry smile, attempting to turn it into something friendly as he glanced to Martín. His eye then noticed the unusual parchment and handwriting of the sheet lying in the open box on the desk. “What’s this?”

He’d picked it up before either of them could react to stop him and the frown marring his brow didn’t bode at all well.

“Its… an invite list,” Oswald lied quickly. “Martín is hosting a party.”

“Inviting a lot of people are we?” He pointedly gazed at the rest of the papers in the box. “What’s the P and C for then?”

Oswald opened his mouth to lie but his tongue answered before his brain could intercede.

“P for present, C for coal.”

He smacked a hand over his mouth but the damage was done. Jim dropped the page and his posture changed into an aggressive pose.

“So you  _ are  _ still pretending to be Santa Claus.” He shook his head. “I warned you, Oswald.”

Briskly Jim gestured his accomplices forward who moved to corner Martín.

“No.” Oswald positioned himself so the boy could hide behind him. “You  _ can’t  _ take him away.”

At once, Jim drew his weapon.

“Don’t make this difficult Oswald. I don’t need to arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“Would you  _ really  _ shoot Santa Claus?” Oswald tried wheedling.

For some reason it struck Jim differently however and he blinked in surprise.

“You actually think you’re Santa Claus?” He shook his head. “You need help Oswald. A short stay in Arkham would-”

He got no further as a whirling dervish escaped past Oswald wielding a heavy ornament, clearly intent on attacking the perceived threat. Oswald clutched the angry boy tightly to him with one arm even as he snatched the impromptu weapon away with the other. Jim had instinctively retreated, giving Oswald breathing space to realise that the weapon of choice was in fact the snowglobe that Martín insisted lived on his desk. As he released a breath at the close call with the armed police captain, and Martín heaved deep gulps of air against him, he tried to calm himself by watching the tiny snowflakes settle again. Which was when he saw the scenery move.

He’d previously noticed how much the landscape inside the dome resembled Cobblepot Manor, and theorised that was why Martín was so taken with it, but this time he saw more than that. Among the steadily falling flakes, a miniature sleigh pulled by eight reindeer flew down to land on the rooftop before moments later taking off again and swirling away into the storm. He turned his head to meet Martín’s tearful gaze and saw the recognition at once in his eyes as he realised Oswald had seen what he’d apparently always seen in the globe.

Looking back up to the cautious captain, Oswald licked his lips and did his best to appear submissive.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “I need help. Martín deserves better than…” he waved his hand, unsure how to actually finish that sentence. Thankfully Jim seemed willing to listen anyway. “But please, if you’re going to separate us, at least give me a minute in private to say goodbye.”

It was clear that Jim wasn’t too happy about relinquishing any control over the situation but apparently Martín’s tears were enough to sway him.

“Fine,” he agreed. “One minute. And Alvarez and Lewis will be standing watch outside the door. I’ll contact Arkham. Let them know the situation.”

The pair watched him stalk out of the room, the two detectives moving just outside to frame the exit. It took Oswald a second to kneel himself on Martín’s level and by then the boy had framed his first question.

“You saw it move?”

“I sure did. You were right Martín. I should have listened to you.”

Martín beamed at the praise even as Oswald wiped the tear traces from his cheeks.

“Now,” he glanced over his head at the guards. “We have to get out of here. Somehow. I have no wish to spend Thanksgiving in Arkham.”

“Did someone speak of a Thanksgiving wish?”

Oswald stood as quickly as he could but the voice had already attracted the attention of Alravez and Lewis. They spun back into the room, guns already drawn, only to be beaten to the draw by the new arrival.

“Do try and ketchup,” he mocked while firing a stream of red sauce over one. “Or you’ll never cut the mustard.” A simultaneous yellow stream engulfed the other.

With the pair temporarily out of action he turned to grin at Oswald.

“Santa! How I relish meeting you. I am the Condiment King, conceptualised Thanksgiving spirit. I am here to spice you away to the North Pole.”

“That’s…” Oswald blinked away his disbelief and smiled. “That’s wonderful. We’re ready whenever you are.”

As Oswald pulled Martín safely to him, the boy quickly grabbed his snowglobe again before the self-proclaimed Condiment King came up behind them to rest his hands upon their shoulders. He looked once more to the guards only just beginning to clear the goop from their eyes.

“So long, suckers! Parting is such sweet-and-sour sorrow.”

In a sprinkle of salt and pepper the trio vanished. Right before Jim Gordon came striding back into the room.

“Time’s up,” he announced before seeing the carnage. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Sorry Sir.”

“We were ambushed.”

Jim grit his teeth and surveyed the room now empty of his assigned target.

“Put out an APB. Oswald Cobblepot, AKA The Penguin. He can’t hide forever.”

So saying he turned to stalk out of the room decisively, only to slip in the puddles of ketchup and mustard pooled on the floor.

“Goddammit.”


	9. Chapter 9

The North Pole was more magical than Oswald had remembered. He was sure there hadn’t been so many penguins decorating the place last time and he wondered if the aesthetic changed with a new Santa. Martín looked positively in his element and Oswald couldn’t help but envisage a future dynasty as he handed on the mantle of Santa to a boy raised for it. It made him feel a lot better about taking on the role himself if he viewed it as solidifying his boy’s future.

He met some more of the legendary figures this time, those that had been lending a hand while he sorted his affairs, and was relieved that they understood his perspective. All of them had found themselves carrying their mantle through unforeseen circumstances, though some had admittedly relished the change more than others. Mother Nature especially seemed to have literally blossomed into her role.

Pamela Isley had been an early day eco-terrorist before it was in vogue and had been vilified for her stance. She still kept the name the press had given her, Poison Ivy, as a reminder to everyone that nature could be very deadly. At present however she was weaving garlands and encouraging growth in all pine trees, holly bushes and mistletoe plants.

Down in a cosy corner of the workshop where the baking happened, it was somewhat surprising to find the Easter Bunny sitting with the spirit of Halloween decorating candies but he supposed it made a weird sort of sense. They looked rather mismatched, what with the one’s raggedy scarecrow frame and the others chubby cheeks and buck teeth, but they worked harmoniously enough.

Coordinating the production of gifts befitting their areas of expertise were the manifestations of the four seasons: Mister Freeze of Winter, Firefly for Summer, Kite Man monitoring Spring and Moth overseeing Autumn. And keeping everyone running to schedule was Father Time himself, their very own Clock King. Which was a very good thing as the elfs needed constant supervision and direction. Left to their own devices they’d as likely start a game of football or listen to music. Oswald could see he’d need to implement some employment standards once this rush was over. But initially he had to successfully deliver his first complete Christmas. Which was nerve wracking for a number of reasons.

“But what if I fall off the roof?” he asked for what must have been the bazillionth time even as he was standing beside the prepared sleigh, fixing his traditional red hat upon his less traditional black and white hair. Alongside him Martín grinned and retrieved something he’d had hidden behind his back. A poly nylon blend rope, coiled and tied with a bow, was placed into his hands. Accepting it gratefully, Oswald smiled down at him.

“Thank you Martín. This means a lot to me.”

He slipped it into one of the cavernous pockets on the bespoke red suit, feeling a comfort from the weight, and finally felt ready to climb aboard. Hoisting Martín in next to him he briskly made sure that the boy’s hat and coat were snug about him before picking up the reins and snapping them decisively.

“Let’s go!”

It actually came surprisingly naturally to do the job. The magic of Santa Claus extended itself automatically around them to protect them from either the passage of time or such mortal problems as alarm systems. He couldn’t help but wonder if that feature would work all year round but actually found himself balking at the idea of theft in his current guise. His heart ached with the need to protect the children of the world and by association to defend the ethos of Christmas.

Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t made  _ any  _ plans for his future. He had no intention of being usurped from his current role until Martín was of an age suitable to take over but he’d left certain investments in place which would by then leave him a comfortable nest egg, either to retire with or to set up in business again. He only had to focus on surviving events until some eight or ten years hence at least. Though surviving the night was the first thing on his agenda, particularly as he approached his next stopping point.

Something about his posture must have alerted Martín that he was anxious because he grasped at his sleeve and gave him a plainly questioning look. Oswald licked his lips as he contemplated his answer.

“This is Jim and Lee’s house.”

Martín clutched his arm tighter to insist he stay and Oswald had to explain further.

“They had a baby this year. I  _ have  _ to deliver here.”

It was heart wrenching to watch as Martín attempted to both maintain his hold and wrestle with his pen and Oswald made sure not to shift in any way that would cause him anxiety.

“They’ll expect you.”

He very nearly responded that  _ of course _ they would until realising how Martín actually meant it. Jim believed Oswald was under a misapprehension of being Santa Claus. What would be more natural than for him to anticipate a deluded attempt to fulfil his perceived role? And to take advantage of that to capture him and drag him into Arkham. Yet for all the logic against it, one fact remained unavoidable.

“Lucy is on the nice list. I have to deliver.”

Even Martín knew he couldn’t argue that point and he let go his hold on Oswald albeit reluctantly. Oswald himself hesitated a moment longer. He might be honour bound to walk into this trap but he wasn’t an idiot.

“If anything goes wrong, press the distress button.  _ Don’t  _ show yourself.  _ Don’t  _ try and follow. Wait here until someone comes get you. Okay?”

He received a nod and let out a low breath. Then he steeled himself to descend into the house. At first it seemed exactly like every other visit and he wondered if they’d been paranoid. Then a half dozen flashlights illuminated him and he realised that if anything they had underestimated the threat. He’d assumed Jim might have sat up himself on the off chance of a visit, he hadn’t expected him to have invited a whole team round. Even if he had been armed himself, the odds were too far stacked against him and the only real option to him was to surrender and make sure they didn’t suspect where Martín was.

Still, he thought they might have been a little more restrained about it as they bundled him onto the street and into a waiting police car. Especially as children were watching.

“It's okay kids,” he called out, only partly for the crowd gathered and primarily for Martín concealed on the roof still. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

“Get in the car fatso.”

He glared at the rude officer but obliged. No child needed to see Santa get into a slanging match. Mentally he tried to figure out what would happen from this point on at the North Pole and wished he’d thought to clarify the planned responses to these events. He was relatively sure that this type of thing was probably not too unusual. If he assumed Martín had alerted them immediately, and he had no reason to suppose he wouldn’t have, then he hoped one of the legendary figures would magic their way to him within minutes. Even assuming they took the time to take him home first, that shouldn’t take them long. What next? Would an elf be dispatched to complete the rounds? Would one of them, possibly the legal eagle Two Face, negotiate his release?

He wasn’t sure. In any case, his best strategy seemed to be to play for time and not give the cops an easy time of it. Therefore he settled himself in the interview room with the familiar expectation of outwitting whoever chose to challenge him. Which turned out to be Detective Bullock.

The man walked in with resignation apparent in every aspect of his being and stared balefully at him before he’d even begun. He turned on the tape recorder and announced the date and time with extreme resentment lacing his tone. Oswald wondered if he’d actually had any holiday plans that had been interrupted or if it was just his normal level of general resentment.

“Detective Bullock is present conducting the interview. Will you please state your name for the tape.”

“Santa Claus.”

He hadn’t actually meant to say that but with hindsight it was the best possible move. Bullock sighed loudly.

“Your  _ real  _ name,” he insisted.

“Saint Nicholas.”

“Look,” Bullock ran a hand down his face. “ _ I _ know you’re Oswald Cobblepot.  _ You  _ know you’re Oswald Cobblepot. So let’s make this simple. I say ‘name’, you say ‘Oswald Cobblepot’.” Briefly they met eyes before Bullock continued. “Name.”

“Kris Kringle.”

“Name.”

“Sinterklas.”

“Name.”

“Pere Noel. Babbo Natale. Pelz-Nickel. Topo Gigio.” Oswald said each name with extra bite until Bullock abruptly stood.

“Okay Cobblepot. Maybe a couple of hours in the tank will change your mind.”

He stalked out muttering about demanding overtime but Oswald didn’t care. A couple of hours should be plenty of time for the people back at base to get Martín safe and hopefully do something about keeping Christmas on track. He only hoped it wouldn’t involve replacing him. Not when he was just beginning to enjoy the role.


	10. Chapter 10

It was the glittering snowflakes suddenly settling upon his lashes that alerted him to the fact something was happening outside his cell. By the feel of things someone had opened a door and let a cold front in. While that was explicable the sudden presence of a type of moss growing around the bars of his cage was not. As he watched, the swirls of frigid air reached them and they began to freeze over, swelling as they did so. His eyes widened in surprise as the metal gave way under the pressure. Then three figures appeared looking in at him.

“Santa.”

Poison Ivy looked as comfortable in her robe of green as if there wasn’t icicles forming in the corridor about her. Next to her, Victor Freeze silently reached forward and pulled the damaged bars loose. And between them, his son was grinning proudly.

“Martín,” he managed a fondly scolding tone even as he stepped forward to hug him. “I thought I told you to wait for someone to get you?”

“I did,” he protested hurriedly. “And now we’re here.”

Oswald couldn’t help but chuckle as he read that and ruffled the curly hair.

“We should get back to the Pole,” Freeze commented to Ivy, ignoring the familial scene. She nodded but Oswald reached out a hand to halt them momentarily.

“Thank you. For getting Martín and busting me out.”

“We had little choice,” she responded simply but graciously. “Only Santa can deliver Christmas. It would be a disaster if any of us tried.”

Freeze’s huffed breath of laughter indicated it had been tried at least once and that he at least had found the results amusing. Time unfortunately didn’t give Oswald an opportunity to ask as two policemen swerved round the far corridor corner only to continue skidding until they fell in a heap.

“Time to go,” he agreed instead.

A prickly mass of holly sprung up between them and the main body of the GCPD while Victor used more ice to destroy the structural integrity of any walls between them and freedom. After that it was but a brisk journey by snow storm back to the rooftop where the reindeer and sleigh were waiting with admirable patience. Thankfully, Ivy had kept them sheltered from the cold effects of their mode of transport so they weren’t suffering the effects of frostbite once they were left once again to their own duties.

Martín eagerly climbed back into the sleigh, obviously wanting to be away from the place, but Oswald was slower as he considered the matter. Jim was stubborn. He’d keep watching for Oswald so long as he believed that he was insane and had kidnapped Martín. Which meant in all likelihood every year would involve running the same risk of capture and imprisonment. While he was sure he could learn to navigate it, the prospect was nevertheless unwelcome. Hence why he resolved to end the charade here and now.

“Martín?” He waited to be sure the boy was paying attention. “Do you trust me?”

There was a momentary puzzled frown but the nod was utterly sure.

“Good. Because I am about to do something that I don’t think I would ever recommend.”

So saying he gave a slight clicking sound to the reindeer and jostled the reins carefully so they merely trotted off the roof and descended down to hover alongside the first floor windows. He could feel Martín tense next to him but he kept his focus on the window. Naturally he’d had the sense to position himself between the house and the boy, and at a distance where Jim couldn’t hope to reach him. He just had to trust the police captain wouldn’t simply choose to shoot him.

The puffing of eight reindeer, along with the jangling of dozens of pieces of harness, was clearly sufficient to draw the household’s attention and scarcely half a minute after arriving there the window was pushed up to reveal Jim and Lee gaping out. Oswald smiled brightly and gave them a mock salute.

“Merry Christmas.”

Jim promptly leaned out to peer underneath the sleigh, obviously looking for a trick, while Lee’s face shifted into a picture of wonderment.

“How are you doing that?” Jim demanded.

“Oh my god,” Lee murmured in soft contrast to her husband. “You really are him, aren’t you? Santa Claus.”

All Oswald could do was smile triumphantly at her but Jim stared between them in betrayed horror. It seemed a good time to pull out his trump card and he reached into the sack behind him with focused thoughts. He was pleased to realise he was getting a handle on the Christmas magic thing as he deftly pulled out two presents, one much larger than the other, and passed them over.

“Belated presents for believing again,” he suggested.

It was doubtful if either of them heard him, both too focused on the items held in their hands. Lee was stroking the cover of the child’s game she’d unwrapped.

“Mystery Date,” she said with a tremble to her voice. “How did you… I wanted this  _ so  _ badly that year.”

“Now one day you can play with Lucy,” Oswald suggested sympathetically.

She displayed a flicker of surprise at his knowing their baby’s name before shaking her head in amazement. They were both distracted by a short whistle and looked to see Jim blowing on an Oscar Meyer Weenie Whistle. His childlike look of wonder said it all.

“So,” Oswald shared a conspiratorial look with Martín. “Are we free to go?”

For a moment everyone held their breath while Jim cast his gaze between his wife beside him and the pair of escapees in front. Then he shook his head and smiled.

“I don’t want to be known as the cop who stopped Christmas,” he allowed. “And I would hope Santa will be more law abiding than the Penguin.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Oswald smirked. “But I’ll be out of your hair,” he agreed.

He was about to snap the reins to make his exit when Lee moved forward with urgency.

“Martín,” she spoke clearly. “Are you happy? Is this the life you want?”

The boy scribbled fast then leaned over Oswald’s paunch to answer her.

“Yes. I’m going to go into the family business.”

He smiled up at Oswald who hugged him to him with one arm before facing the others again.

“It's what you wanted. Who better than Santa Claus to raise a child with love and affection? He’ll have a permanent home and a career waiting for him that falls within accepted bounds of criminality.”

“Oswald,” Jim growled cautioningly but Oswald was having fun.

“And when he takes over the role I’ll be free to come back and retake my place in the city. You can look forward to seeing me again someday Jim.”

With a wink he finally jarred the reins and curved the reindeer about to gain elevation, all the while laughing at the angry voice of Jim yelling after him. He was going to enjoy these carte blanche years to learn every trick of the trade. Then he could leave the North Pole to Martín and retake Gotham for himself. All the while bringing happiness to millions of children worldwide. But most importantly to the child by his side.

As Martín snuggled against him, Oswald finally relaxed that he had established the best possible upbringing for him. And as the sleigh flew up under the clear blanket of stars overheard, he felt guided once again by his mother. She had always told him that it wasn’t the size of their family that mattered, only the amount of love they shared. He knew she had loved him unreservedly and he loved Martín the same way. Leaning down he placed a kiss into the curly hair.

“Merry Christmas son,” he whispered.

The note held out for him in return brought happy tears to his eyes.

“Merry Christmas dad.”

If Christmas was about family, then they truly had the best Christmas of all.


End file.
